this is not pitchfork

I saw the Cars at Forest Hills Tennis Stadium some time in the 80’s. They came out on stage, launched into the first song, then proceeded to play most of their catalog without stopping. They never once acknowledged the audience. They never moved from their spots. There was no musical ad libbing, no banter, no eye contact, nothing that would make you think they even realized there were several thousand people sitting there in a light rain watching them play.

When I thought about it later on, I realized that’s the way Cars songs were meant to be played; without fanfare, without any extraneous notes or vocals. Just the precisioned perfection you hear on their records. Their brilliance lies in the simplicity of the tunes, in the clean, uncluttered feel of each song. You don’t dance to the cars (lord knows we tried, but everyone in the club would just end up sort of bopping along quietly while finishing drinks whenever a Cars song was played). You don’t emote the to Cars. You don’t feel their pain. You don’t take out your air guitar. You just listen and enjoy.

This album was, in a word, linear. Where other bands at the time were all curvy lines, the Cars were symmetrical and straight. However, their simplicity was only skin deep. Beneath the minimalism were catchy hooks, killer riffs, amazing melodies and clever lyrics. They managed to layer so much into their songs but have it all sound so clean and technically perfect.

The true testament to the beauty of this album is how well it has stood the test of time for me. Every time I hear Moving in Stereo or Good Times Roll, it’s like I’m hearing them for the first time; unlike most of the music I listen to, this album doesn’t transport me back to any specific time or place or event. It is always in the here and now.